Never Back Down
by Nerweniel
Summary: 1945. Grindelwald is on top of his power, and three desperate men reach for their last resort. Someone must infiltrate. A spy. A woman.
1. Prologue

The fate of the world lay in the hands of three men.  
  
That Albus Dumbledore, Nicolas Flamel and Alastor Moody realized, as they once more bowed over the large variety of parchments that lay before them on Alastor's desk. They knew it was useless, though. No words were needed, but deeds. Something needed to be done, and quickly. If only they knew what… or by whom.  
  
But they didn't.  
  
No-one did.  
  
The Dark Lord Grindelwald and his followers were on top of their power. The wizards of the Ministry couldn't stop them anymore. Well, in fact there was no Ministry left.  
  
There was chaos.   
  
Absolute chaos had been ruling the wizarding world for more than five years now, and it only grew worse. Nobody knew anything about anyone anymore. Your friend of today could be your enemy of tomorrow. People changed sides constantly, confused and hoping to save their own lives. And in fact, no-one could blame them.   
  
"We must act." Albus Dumbledore, the auburn-haired wizard with his half-moon-shaped glasses, summarized the situation.  
  
"We must act now, before it is too late."  
  
Alastor Moody- the youngest of the three- nodded, yet shrugged his shoulders at the same time.  
  
"I agree, Albus, but what must we do?"  
  
"We've tried everything." acknowledged Nicolas Flamel, obviously the oldest of the three, with his parchment-like skin and his snow-white hair.  
  
"We've tried everything and I fear we have failed."   
  
He slowly nodded, a sad, almost-defeated look in his dark eyes.  
  
But Alastor Moody objected.  
  
"No!" the young man fiercely exclaimed, as he half-stood up and banged his fist on the table, causing the three whisky glasses to dangerously shake.  
  
"I know the situation is desperate, but we cannot give in. If we give in, what happens then?"  
  
Albus sighed.   
  
"Then there is no hope left." he flatly expressed the thoughts of the three of them.   
  
"Then Grindelwald has won."   
  
"Yes!" Alastor said. "Yes, and we won't let that happen. There must be a way to…"  
  
"But what way, my boy?" Nicolas seriously spoke.   
  
"You are young and enthusiastic, Alastor, and that's good."  
  
The man sighed and looked at his long, wrinkled hands.  
  
"Look, I don't fear for myself. I am 619 years old- I don't care if I die tomorrow. Death is merely a new adventure for me. But you, Alastor, and you, Albus! And all those children of today…"  
  
The old man sighed, yet then, something of the fire in the eyes of the younger man crept into his slightly hoarse voice.  
  
"You know what," he then, surprisingly determinedly, spoke.  
  
"Alastor, you're right. We cannot give in now. We are the last hope of the world, I am afraid- a small hope, but a hope."  
  
But Moody sat down again, smiled at the older man, yet sighed.  
  
"But what can we do?"  
  
The three men sighed almost in perfect unison- it would have been funny, if it hadn't been so tragic. A strange silence fell, as every one of them found himself lost in his own thoughts.   
  
Until Nicolas suddenly suggested  
  
"Albus, Alastor… perhaps- I know it sounds quite ridiculous, but… a spy? I remember a case in 1758, and…"  
  
Yet Albus bit his lips and hesitatingly shook his head.  
  
"A spy, Nicolas? After what happened to all Aurors who've tried to infiltrate? Have you forgotten about poor Gerry Lachlan? We had to scrape his body off the ceiling, to have at least something to bury!" he muttered with an undertone of bitterness.  
  
"It was a really horrible incident." He lightly shivered.  
  
Nicolas nodded and sighed.  
  
"Oh I do remember him, Albus, don't worry… But I meant something else- the spy in 1758 who managed to eliminate one of the most evil wizards of her time, was a woman."  
  
"A woman?"  
  
"A woman?"   
  
Alastor almost choked in his last sip of his whisky.  
  
"A woman! But Mr. Flamel- Nicolas!"  
  
Nicolas Flamel nodded, clearly amused by the surprise of the two younger men.  
  
"Yes, a woman indeed! Simonetta Morgan was her name- oh, I remember her… fine-looking woman, by the way. And a very powerful witch. She totally lured that chap into it! Oh, I remember it as if it were yesterday…"  
  
"Yes, but Nicolas," Albus sincerely interrupted his friend- he knew Nicolas and his stories only too well.  
  
"The risks!"  
  
Nicolas sighed and shrugged his shoulders.  
  
"Well, there are risks anyway, whether you send a woman or a man. Dead is dead in the end. I know I sound cruel, Albus, and I am sorry, but this indeed may be our last chance."  
  
Albus sighed and nodded then, quite reluctantly.  
  
"Okay, Nicolas, perhaps it is. But what woman will ever want to risk her life for this?"  
  
The three friends once more sighed. Yes. Yes, what woman? It was a dangerous task, of course, and the chance she would have to be scraped of the ceiling in the end was highly probable. They could ask an Auror of course… if only there were female Aurors. But there were none.  
  
In fact, after years of war; there were only five more fully-trained Aurors alive…  
  
No women.  
  
Except…  
  
"Yes!" Alastor Moody all of a sudden exclaimed.  
  
"Of course! Listen, my friends, I know someone who has a chance on succeeding."  
  
"Is she an Auror?" Nicolas Flamel asked anxiously. "Because if she is one, then Grindelwald will of course know her, and…"  
  
"There are no female Aurors." Albus calmly stated. "Not anymore, that is. So, Alastor, who do you have in mind?"  
  
Despite all their troubles, Alastor Moody faintly smiled.  
  
"She is not an Auror, no. But you know what? I'll invite her to come over tomorrow. We'll explain her, then, and we can see whether she is fit for this task. But I trust she is. So, my friends, tomorrow, same time, same place?"  
  
The two other men nodded, and after they'd left him, Alastor Moody rested his head on his hands and nodded.  
  
He indeed trusted her to be fit for the task.  
  
If she wasn't, then no-one was. 


	2. Chapter One

So the next day, a spectacled young woman with a long, black plait tumbling down her back, gathered her courage, balled her fist and knocked on Alastor Moody's office's door. She had no idea why she had been summoned- she just hoped it wasn't to be too bad news. Of course it could hardly be good news, but still. What if it was bad news… bad news about her Auror training, perhaps? Minerva McGonagall wasn't a fool- she knew very well she was a smart witch and she knew as well that she had finished her second training year gracefully. But one did never know, after all. There had already been rumors circulating about a plan to close down all trainings, because of the quickly increasing risks.   
  
Risks! Minerva McGonagall mentally snorted. As if she hadn't realized the risks when she'd started, three years ago. The war had been on for three years, then, and, as Minerva McGonagall always knew everything, she'd very well known she was risking her life.   
  
Oh how well she remembered Albus Dumbledore's- he Head of House's- "warning talk", as she'd inwardly put it. And how did she remember her own, very typical and very clear answer  
  
"Professor," she had smiled. "I am not a silly little school girl anymore. I am a calculated little cat, as you very well know."   
  
Her Animagus form had once more come in handy, and Albus, dear Albus, had chuckled and supported her. He always had, in fact. Yet, he had kept on warning her, in every single letter he wrote to her. And he had written many of them.  
  
But what he didn't get was, that she wasn't frightened. She really was not. And whether that was then the so-called Gryffindor bravery, or just plain rashness… Did it matter, after all?   
  
Minerva was, and that was just plain true, always been a girl who was on her best in crisis situations. She always had been, with her steel nerves, her cold logic and her calm intelligence.  
  
But perhaps it was just rashness, the recklessness of a young, idealistic girl.  
  
But she wasn't idealistic! She most certainly wasn't- Minerva's ideals had all been wiped away four years earlier- she'd just been sixteen when both her parents were ruthlessly murdered by the Dark Lord Grindelwald… she'd just been sixteen, but suddenly, she'd felt like sixty. Or not, perhaps. Because after their death, she knew she was alone on the world, and that was a sad thing, but it also allowed her to absolutely do as she wanted. She had no responsibilities left whatsoever. She'd been the only child of her mom and dad, and all left of her family were a few old aunts in Scotland. She could do as she wanted, young Minnie McGonagall had realized, and she, as the only girl in years, had inscribed herself for the Auror training.   
  
Albus had always guarded her, though. Dear Albus.  
  
A sudden "Enter!" awoke her from her thoughts, and with a last, firm nod, Minerva pushed the door, and found herself standing before three man, of whom she knew two very well.  
  
"Hello, Miss McGonagall."  
  
"Good day, Mr. Moody, good day Professor D-" Minerva began, in her usual, composed way, but she was interrupted by a stifled cry, and as she looked up, she noticed the nothing less than horrified look in her ex-teacher and good friend's eyes. Though it quite worried her- what could ever make Albus look at her like that?- she managed to calmly continue  
  
"Good day, Professor Dumbledore, good day, er-"  
  
She looked at Alastor Moody questioningly, and the man smiled as he introduced her  
  
"This, Minerva, is Nicolas Flamel."  
  
Nicolas nodded and friendly smiled, and Minerva smiled as well.  
  
"Good day, Mr. Flamel. I am very pleased to meet you, I-"  
  
But she was interrupted again by Albus, and as the man turned towards Alastor, he mutter with great difficulty  
  
"Please, Alastor, please tell me this is a mistake. Please tell me…"  
  
But Alastor frowned and shook his head, as he questioningly glanced at his very oddly behaving friend.  
  
"No, Albus, it isn't, actually. I have invited Miss McGonagall here, because I think she's the best person for this task, that is, if she accepts. She must be aware of…"  
  
"ALASTOR MOODY!"   
  
Albus stood up now, towering over his still sitting friend and he had never, never ever looked so dangerous before.  
  
"Alastor Moody, are you trying to say that you want Miss McGonagall, this Minerva McGonagall, over here, to-"  
  
"Albus Dumbledore!" the younger man objected, though, as he stood up as well and looked the other wizard straight in the eye.  
  
"As a matter of fact, I have, because, whatever you might think of Miss McGonagall's abilities, I trust them! And though you are older and perhaps more powerful, this is in fact my responsibility, and if you don't agree…"  
  
With this, the soothing hand of Nicolas Flamel on his arm made him hush, and with fiery red cheeks, both wizards sat down.  
  
"Perhaps," the oldest of the three men calmly stated. "Perhaps we'd best tell Miss McGonagall first about our idea and her possible task. Then she can decide for herself."  
  
He didn't know how grateful Minerva was for this. She had watched the rant of the two wizards she considered her friends, and in fact, she hadn't got a clue what they were talking about. It wasn't anything about her training, she realized, and that was alright, but what was it, then? It seemed to be about some task, but why had she then been summoned in private? A whole bunch of questions whirled through her head, but Minerva McGonagall wasn't a person who asked many questions. She listened, and then she usually understood things without further explanations needed. It was one of her many merits.  
  
But now? She really hadn't got a clue, but what she understood the least was Albus's reactions. He? Not trusting her abilities? He had in fact always been the person to defend her abilities! He always, always had trusted her!  
  
With a head that felt like exploding, Minerva turned her clever green eyes towards her three superiors, expecting an explanation, which Alastor Moody immediately provided.  
  
"You see, Minerva… I am going to say things as they are: the wizarding world is collapsing. Grindelwald has almost free play. All left of the Ministry is a dozen of frightened and threatened wizards and witches. Our last hopes have almost faded… Our only chance is a spy."  
  
He explained it very clearly, very quickly, but clearly indeed, and Minerva understood.  
  
"And that should be me?"  
  
Alastor nodded.  
  
"That should be you, indeed. It's not- well, you know it is dangerous. You know there are many risks. But it is our last hope. Mind you, you do not have to accept. We can't expect that of you- of course we can't!. But I'll be honest, it is possibly our last hope. Your task would be to peer around and try to get hold of as many of Grindelwald's plans as possible. You should- er… try to gain his confidence, and…"  
  
He slightly stammered, not exactly knowing how to put it, but Minerva grimly smiled.  
  
"I should try to *seduce* Grindelwald into trusting me. Isn't that what you were truly trying to say?"  
  
Alastor opened his mouth- and closed it again, looking very much like a fish, and then, he quite defeatedly nodded.  
  
"Yes, that is what I was trying to say. You are an intelligent girl indeed, Minerva, very intelligent, and thus I hope you perceive the dangers. Grindelwald knows no mercy. You know what happened to our other spies, and you know what can possibly happen. But it's our last chance- you…"  
  
A bang of the door interrupted him, though, and as he looked up, he saw a fuming Albus Dumbledore had left the room. An uncomfortable silence fell as Alastor noticed the confused look in the young woman's eyes. Nicolas saved the situation, though. He cleared his throat, then matter-of-factly spoke  
  
"Of course you don't have to answer right away, Miss McGonagall. I am-"  
  
But with another grim smile and a firm nod of her head, Minerva McGonagall interrupted him.  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Flamel, but I already know what I must do." 


	3. Chapter Two

Minerva nodded once more as she slowly, carefully, yet clearly repeated  
  
"I know what I must do. I will accept this task."  
  
She once more nodded, and her determination was showed in the typical way she clenched her thin lips.  
  
"I will accept." Minerva repeated once more, as she looked the remaining two wizards in the eye.  
  
Alastor Moody's feelings were very double. On one hand: enormous relief, because he fully realized it was the last chance they had, and because he knew that Minerva McGonagall was unique: if she couldn't do this, then no-one could. But there was also a feeling of sadness- of guilt even. He knew Minerva had potential- lots of potential indeed- and, though she was still in training, he had always considered her an adult. Well, of course she in fact was an adult, but it was not until this very moment that he realized how very young she still was. Too young for a task like this, a nasty little voice inside his head reminded him. Too young to be sacrificed. Too young to die. But wasn't every living person in fact too young to die? Perhaps, but that didn't stop the little voice, the voice of what probably was his conscience. He fully realized that the chance she survived all this was very small. Could he, he himself, doom a young woman, a girl, even, to such a horrible fate? Could he?   
  
Suddenly, quite unexpectedly, the stern, always-vigilant Head Auror took, with what was a strangely paternal gesture -considering he was only eight years her senior- the girl's right hand.  
  
"Minerva, shouldn't you remember the dangers in this mission before you so rashly accept? How old are you, Minerva?"  
  
The girl raised her chin, narrowed her eyes and spoke  
  
"I am twenty, Sir. But I don't see the relevance of that, actually."  
  
She had said those words in an almost… hostile tone, which so very much differed from her usual, in-control, calm voice. But Alastor's question irritated her. He had wanted her to accept this, now she did accept it and now he tried to make her hesitate? Men… she'd never understand them.   
  
"You are very young, Minerva." Nicolas Flamel understood his friend's worries.   
  
"I think Alastor just wants you rationally think over things, Miss McGonagall. I understand this probably seems quite an adventure to you, but…"  
  
It was obvious that Nicolas did not know whom he was talking to. Not at all, actually.   
  
"No, you do not understand!" Minerva exclaimed, wondering what the hell this man was talking about. She then, obviously remembering her manners, forced a faint smile on her lips.  
  
"I am sorry, Mr. Flamel, but it is true- you do not seem to understand this. I am not up to an "adventure" as you put it- in fact, I realize very well I will probably not survive this. And I do not feel happy about it, actually, but if this is the role I have to play, then this is the role I will play. In fact, I do really want to do this. And not because I am an obsessed, young, un-knowing nymphomaniac, Mr. Flamel! I am young, yes, that is true, but the death of my parents has taught me long ago that life is not a joke."  
  
The piercing look in her emerald eyes confused Nicolas, and she slowly explained  
  
"They were killed, Mr. Flamel. Four years ago. By Grindelwald. And that is why I don't bother risking my life here. It won't bring Mother and Father back."  
  
She laughed hollowly, bitterly  
  
"That I very well know, but if there is the tiniest little chance to revenge them, then I will grasp that chance with both my hands. And if I die, then I will not have died a useless death."  
  
Then, she suddenly treated Alastor and especially Nicolas to a warm smile.  
  
"Do you understand now, Mr. Flamel?"  
  
And he understood. For Nicolas Flamel had suddenly, very suddenly, read something in this so young girl's clear eyes, something he had not expected to find there.   
  
Age.  
  
Wisdom.  
  
A very rare kind of wisdom, in fact, a kind of wisdom which he, in his long, prolonged life, had not very often discovered in people. And certainly not in a girl who was barely more than just that- a girl. Wisdom accompanied with bravery.  
  
But here she sat, before him, and with her determined chin and her brave, greenish eyes, she once more proved that even a man with the life experience of Nicolas Flamel could be proven wrong some time.  
  
And Nicolas bowed his head.  
  
"I do, Miss McGonagall. So be it, then."  
  
"Yes, so be it." Alastor Moody repeated the words of his friend, as he smiled towards Minerva pupil.   
  
"So be it, Minerva, I trust you. The instructions for the plan will be given to you later, but now there is one more thing-"  
  
He glanced at Nicolas, then turned his look towards Minerva, and lowered his eyes under her piercing gaze.  
  
"Minerva, " he spoke with clear difficulty.  
  
"If anything goes wrong, then we cannot help you. That is, in fact, the real danger of the plan. When you accept- and you have accepted- then you'll be all by yourself. We cannot sacrifice all possible men to save you. And even if we did, Grindelwald's troops would be stronger nonetheless. That's the risk."  
  
He looked up at her, and Minerva fiercely bit her upper lip to oppress a quick, rather sharp reply.  
  
"I," she then, very slowly, answered, so as to let her words sink in well.   
  
"am doing this. Of course you can't save me when I ruin things! What did you think I expected? You cannot, you absolutely should not give in the last men we have for me! I have never expected such a thing! I am not naïve, Mr. Moody- Alastor. You know very well I am not naïve."  
  
He suddenly, surprisingly, broadly smiled and covered her small hand with his in a fatherly gesture.   
  
"Yes," he then muttered. "Yes, Minerva, I do know. So, if you don't have any objections, let us now discuss the further details of the plan. And Minerva?"  
  
Minerva looked up once more to the person who had tutored her for two years.  
  
"I wish you all the luck." Alastor Moody sincerely said. 


	4. Chapter Three

"So, Minerva, do you think you'll manage?"  
  
Minerva carefully nodded, then curled her lips into an amused smile.   
  
"Yes. At least I think so. I can act, you know…"  
  
Her dark green eyes suddenly drifted far away, as she dreamily continued  
  
"I have a Muggle cousin who dreams of becoming an actress once. She must be… Yes, she must be almost eleven by now. It's a long time ago since I've last met little Maggie, though…"  
  
Yet, she then with a smile nodded her head as if to wipe away all thoughts and nodded.  
  
"So I'll quite manage. And when am I supposed to give away this little performance, Sir?"  
  
"Tomorrow. Then, we'll also give you the last instructions."  
  
"Good." Minerva dryly commented, as she took her cloak.  
  
"So do you mind my leaving now? I am sorry, but I as well have to do some preparations…"  
  
Alastor smiled as he stood up and laid his hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Of course, Minerva. And you'll do fine."  
  
"Yes," Nicolas Flamel smiled. "You will do great, Miss McGonagall, I have no doubt."  
  
Minerva nodded and thanked, and then left a room, with a head that felt like exploding. Was it only an hour ago that she'd entered it? Was it only an hour ago that she'd been just an Auror-in-training, just a girl in just a world? But now, she suddenly mattered and she realized she mattered. She realized, for the very first time, her own importance, and it was a frightening thought.   
  
With a sigh, Minerva walked through the corridors of the well-protected mansion in which the last remains of the Ministry were accommodated. But as she crossed one of the many rooms- a room which apparently had once been a living room- she suddenly felt a strangely familiar, cool hand on her arm. With a swish of her long robes, Minerva quickly turned around and found herself gazing into two very light blue eyes.   
  
"Albus." she matter-of-factly, yet flatly stated.  
  
"Minerva." he confirmed.  
  
Neither one of them said anything, until, with a sudden firm gesture, Albus grabbed Minerva's shoulders.  
  
"Don't tell me you've accepted."  
  
Minerva questioningly narrowed her eyes as she answered.  
  
"In fact, I have. And could you please release me- you are crushing my upper arms."  
  
Albus groaned, then bowed his head until he could look straight into her eyes and ostentatiously shook his head.  
  
"No," he sternly spoke- his words were almost a cry. "I won't release you! Why have you accepted, Minerva? Why have you? Has Alastor forced you? Because if he has…"  
  
His usually so merry eyes glimmered dangerously. Minerva straightened her back and exclaimed  
  
"No, he has not! In fact, he's tried to warn me, but I do not want to be warned! I will do this, Albus, and you cannot stop me. No-one can, in fact. If I feel I am capable…"  
  
Suddenly, surprisingly, Albus' eyes softened as his rigid grip on her arms suddenly turned into a soft caress.  
  
"And you are, Minerva. You can do everything. But I…"   
  
His eyes went darker as he continued, louder again.  
  
"I won't let you, Minerva! I won't let you give your life for this! Minerva, you cannot, certainly can't do this. You will fail! You will fail- but not because of lack of ability. Simply because this job is impracticable! It's mad- it's just plain rubbish, Minerva."  
  
The girl was not at all impressed and brought her face with the slightly sharp nose close to the man's face.  
  
"But I will try to make this rubbish work, Albus. And why, I ask you, why should this all bother you?"  
  
Albus once more stroked her arms as he, sadly, smiled.  
  
"Because I love you, Minerva McGonagall. You must know by now that I love you."  
  
But Minerva pulled back as if she had burnt herself, and with her back against the wall, she hissed  
  
"But I do not love you, Albus Dumbledore. And I never will. And I am going."  
  
She rushed towards the door, but she knew he would not follow her. She had noticed his dumbfounded expression. She had noticed the pain in his eyes.  
  
Tears streamed down her face as she stood outside again. Raindrops touched her face as she slowly, slowly closed her eyes.  
  
What she'd said had been cruel, she knew.  
  
And it had been a lie. 


	5. Chapter Four

"And I tell you I am quitting!" Minerva shouted on top of her lungs, as she slammed the door shut in Alastor Moody's face.  
  
"You won't stop me!"   
  
With this, she ran away, cheeks burning but something of a satisfied smile on her lips. She *had* been convincing. Though Minerva McGonagall wasn't the person to brag, she did know when she did something well, and she realized she *had* played her part perfectly.   
  
And she could act, of course. Not all acting talent in her family had gone to little Maggie (A/N: Little Maggie, who is, of course, the Fabulous, Eternal, Immortal Maggie Smith… *grin*)…  
  
As she stood on the street once more, Minerva slowly inhaled and exhaled again. The air in London was polluted, and she knew it, yet suddenly, it tasted like the fresh countryside air of her birthplace in Scotland. Part one successfully finished, she mentally resumed, as if to keep up her spirits. Time for part two.   
  
Alastor and Nicolas had given her detailed instructions, which she kept on inwardly repeating as her feet lead, dragged, her towards what probable was the most dangerous place in the wizarding world.   
  
Knockturn Alley.  
  
But she immediately scolded herself as she remembered she was trying to infiltrate in places that were by far more dangerous than just old Knockturn Alley.  
  
Yet.  
  
But not only her quest plagued her.   
  
Albus.  
  
Minerva, not caring about what people would think of her, leant her head against a bare, stone wall as she closed her eyes.   
  
Albus, I am sorry.   
  
Albus, I am not sorry.  
  
Which one was true?   
  
Both.  
  
She was sorry, for she'd hurt him, and one did not hurt the ones one loves. She had hurt him- not physically, no, but she knew her words, her very own words, her lies, had been more painful to him than a slap in the face. Way more painful.  
  
She was sorry, for she had lied and Minerva McGonagall- fair, honest Minerva McGonagall- did not lie. She just didn't. But it had been her duty to lie, hadn't it?   
  
Hadn't it?  
  
The fate of the entire world lay in her hands. She had to go.   
  
But had she ever been able to do her duty, to go, if she had admitted to Albus that she loved him in return?   
  
No.  
  
He wouldn't have let her.   
  
And yes she was stubborn, and yes she was strong-willed, and no, no man could ever stop her. But that exactly was the problem.   
  
She wouldn't have let herself as well.  
  
Because, if she had spoken those words, if she had spoken those three, fatal words, she would have had something to lose. And now she hadn't.  
  
Her parents were dead- she had no siblings. And no really good friends. Except Rolanda Hooch, perhaps, but dear, witty, impulsive old Ro was far away in America, working on her Quidditch career. She'd understand.  
  
And Albus?  
  
He wouldn't understand.  
  
Np-one would understand, actually.   
  
No-one would ever understand, that a girl of barely twenty was prepared to throw her life away. Just for- just for goodness's sake.   
  
But as a matter of fact- no-one had ever understood her.  
  
Yet, with a sigh and a firm nod of the head, Minerva McGonagall chased all those depressing thoughts away and headed once more for the darkest and most evil street of the wizarding world.  
  
Knockturn Alley.  
  
~*~  
  
But before Minerva even reached Diagon Alley, suddenly an almost magical attraction between her right hand and one of the pockets of her robes made her stand still. What… But before she could even finish her inward sentence, she remembered. Of course! Only about an hour ago, in Alastor Moody's office, just before her little performance, her once mentor had given her a letter. He'd found it in his mailbox that morning, and didn't know whom it came from. It was just, in a neat, yet curly handwriting –very politely- addressed to "Miss Minerva McGonagall". Minerva hadn't really thought about it –just put it in her pocket, supposing it came from Rolanda Hooch or someone. But now, as she remembered, she realized, she suddenly knew very, very well indeed it did *not* come from Rolanda. A sharp realization dawned as she let her fingers slide over the soft texture of what certainly was parchment.  
  
Albus.  
  
She didn't know why or how she knew it, she just realized it, without words, the way one realizes a color.  
  
"Intuition?" Minerva ironically thought. "Am I going Sybill Trelawney here?"  
  
Perhaps she was indeed, because right she was.   
  
Albus.  
  
Who else?  
  
As she, with her frail, trembling fingers slightly shaking, carefully, carefully opened the envelope, her eyes immediately –despite herself- started consuming the words. His words. Albus Dumbledore's words.  
  
"My dear Minerva," they began.  
  
"You don't want me; you've made yourself perfectly clear, as you always do. So what choice have I but to accept the situation? For heaven's sake, Minerva, I am talking rubbish here. I love you, my dear, and though I once said in this time everything changes, that one thing will never change. Never.   
  
And I will always keep hoping. Always, Minerva. And I know you are proud, I know you are strong, but call for me and I will be there.  
  
This is probably sentimental rubbish to you ears, my dear, but I don't write these words often and now I do write them, I sincerely mean every syllable of them. I will be there, Minerva. Even though you don't love me. That you have refused me does not mean I don't need your friendship anymore. So please, Minerva, please don't think less of me because I lose myself in sentimentality here. I am angry at you, that I can't deny, but despite everything I know I love you and I know I will always love you.   
  
Always.  
  
Yours truly and forever,  
  
Albus"  
  
Minerva's trembling hands almost dropped the letter as she saw his name there, in that very typical purple ink, neatly carved against the yellowish parchment. And she couldn't stop one tear, just one tear, from falling from her eye as she noticed a very small, wet spot at the bottom of the letter. It was a tear stain, and Minerva knew it.   
  
"Please don't think less of me…" she softly quoted.  
  
"Oh Albus, I will never think less of you." 


	6. Chapter Five

Yet she went on.  
  
As Minerva slowly walked through Diagon Alley, she knew her hands were shaking- and, astonishingly, not only because of Albus.   
  
Because of Diagon Alley itself. The once so merry street, where only a few years ago, actually- but it felt like a lifetime to Minerva!- a young, laughing and carefree Minerva McGonagall had bought her schoolbooks. Accompanied by her parents.  
  
And now, a much older and much more mature Minerva found herself crossing that very same street. She could hardly keep herself from trembling as she fastened her pace.  
  
Diagon Alley had, only in those few years' time, become Diagon Graveyard. The hastily scribbled notes on the sealed shutters told the so well-known story of the world, and Minerva sighed.  
  
But, through the fear that- she could no longer deny it- had captured her entire body, another feeling arose as well. Certainty.  
  
Five years of war had been more than enough. The world didn't need, didn't deserve a sixth. It certainly didn't.  
  
And Minerva would look after that. Despite everything. Even despite Albus. She now silently reprimanded herself for what she mentally called "her weakness of yesterday". Because, even if she had acknowledged her love for her former tutor, even if she had accepted the proposal which would have certainly followed… Well, what then?  
  
Then she would, perhaps, have felt something of happiness for a time, but would she ever be able to feel truly happy if her children, those little beings who'd perhaps inherit her black hair and Albus' wonderful blue eyes, were to grow up in such a world, in a world of mass murder, of violence, of evilness?  
  
No.  
  
So, she logically deduced -logic had always been her strength-, so she had made the right choice. And that thought, those simple words, made her carry on when her eyes reluctantly met the darkness.  
  
The darkness of Knockturn Alley.  
  
~*~  
  
She shivered, yet resolutely nodded and gritted her teeth. Everything was fine. Just- fine. Grindelwald must know by now she had had a "fight" with Alastor Moody. That exactly had been the only reason of her little "performance". Deceiving Grindelwald. His spies were everywhere, so they probably were among the few Aurors left as well.   
  
So now she'd see whether her acting had been good or… or bad. But she mustn't think of that.  
  
She shivered again, yet went on again, thoughtlessly pulling her cloak a bit closer round her thin shoulders. She hadn't set two steps, when she already felt hidden eyes rest on her back.   
  
Her heart pounded like hell, but she knew very well casualness could be her only chance here, and she slowly turned around. There stood, as if they'd just Apparated there –which they probably indeed had- two wizards. They were both tall, but one of them was obviously much older than the second. Minerva could not see their faces- both heavily hooded they were- and despite a sudden feeling of panic in her stomach, Minerva managed to keep in her voice in a tone of determined arrogance  
  
"Good day, gentlemen." she clearly spoke. Gentlemen?   
  
The youngest wizard grinned. Minerva couldn't actually see it, but she heard it in his voice, as he answered  
  
"Good day, Minerva McGonagall."  
  
Riddle.  
  
Tom Riddle.  
  
Those two words crept into Minerva's brain as soon as the pretended politeness, the- the slyness, in his words reached her ears.  
  
Tom. Marvolo. Riddle.   
  
A Slytherin.  
  
The Head Boy of two years ago, the year, her 7th year, when she had been Head Girl.   
  
"Good day, Tom Riddle." she seemingly calmly greeted. "How nice to meet an old acquaintance at such an- unexpected place."  
  
She just hoped her sarcasm wasn't too obviously noticeable.   
  
Acquaintance? An old enemy was more like it.   
  
And unexpected? For god's sake, if there was one person who was likely to be here, then it must be Tom-bloody-Riddle!   
  
Lord Voldemort, as he had, ridiculously, renamed himself in his 6th year. Little, sly, despicable Slytherin he was…  
  
But as Minerva saw the look in his eyes, she realized this were no longer her school days. They weren't anymore just the Head Boy and Girl, the Gryffindor and the Slytherin who constantly argued. This wasn't school anymore; this wasn't a game, nor a fight between two children. They weren't school children anymore. They were Minerva McGonagall and Tom Riddle, two adults -young adults, but adults- who were part of a much larger whole. A much more dangerous whole. And unfortunately or not unfortunately, they still were part of the two greatest opposites imaginable. Gryffindor and Slytherin were now suddenly replaced by Good and Bad.   
  
With plain capital letters.   
  
Good and Bad.   
  
And indeed, if anyone could be expected to be at Knockturn Alley, then it had to be Tom Marvolo Riddle.  
  
Yet she had to admit that it had been a mistake of hers to forget about him. His presence here made her task only more complicated.   
  
The boy- man- removed his hood, freeing his messy, black hair, and nodded, a sly grin still on his lips.  
  
"Good guess, McGonagall, but you have always been good at deduction, have you not? Little, smart Miss McGonagall, now trapped in such a dark lonely place. That was not of your smartest moves, sweetie, for I now have the unpleasant task to kill you. Unless, of course…"  
  
He lightly touched her cheek with his cold, right hand, as his eyes met hers and he once more grinned.   
  
Minerva felt like vomiting. Her quest was hard enough without Tom Riddle making advances to her. She slowly inhaled and gathered all courage she could muster.  
  
Then, she resolutely raised her left hand. Her slim, frail fingers wound themselves firmly round his broad wrist.  
  
"Unless, of course, I have important information for Lord Grindelwald and unless, of course, you'll bring me straight to him now."   
  
This words, she flattered herself, and the tone in which they had been spoken; pride mingled with certainty, quite surprised Riddle. He slightly shrunk back, yet found his confidence back very quickly and shook his head.  
  
"Now sweetie, do you really think we are that stupid? McGonagall, you are Albus Dumbledore's little snuggle kitten! You're an Auror for God's sake. We aren't all as clever as you are, dearie, but we really aren't idiots, you know?"  
  
He slightly grinned once more, but Minerva raised her chin and peered straight into his dark, grey eyes.  
  
"People can change, Riddle. But I admit there is at least one thing that will never change: my deep and honest hatred for you. And to your information: I am not and never have been Albus Dumbledore's "snuggle kitten". This morning I have, by the way, quit my Auror training."  
  
Minerva held her breath as she saw this new fact nestle into Tom Riddle's mind.   
  
It was, in fact, her trump card. If this failed…  
  
But it didn't.  
  
For, though Tom's doubts were still clearly obvious, his older companion suddenly took a step forward. He now stood between Tom and Minerva, and took off his hood as well.  
  
Minerva didn't know him- yet somehow, his cold, blue eyes looked strangely familiar…  
  
"It's true, Riddle." the wizard spoke, turning towards his companion.  
  
"Our little-" A thin, cat-like smile curled his colorless lips.  
  
"Our little- informant has acknowledged it. The Lord isn't informed yet, but I am. She's telling the truth."  
  
Minerva slowly exhaled. So it was true. So there was someone- a spy…  
  
But she didn't care at that particular moment. All she felt was a deep, sincere relief. What if…?  
  
But she mustn't think of that- her trick had worked. Apparently, it really had. For the oldest wizard grabbed between his robes, then pulled out something that slightly looked like a key and nodded. Tom Riddle, though reluctantly, had apparently found his major in the other wizard and nodded as well.  
  
"This is a Portkey, McGonagall. Grab it when I count to three. We will take you to the Master. Then, it'll be life or death for you. But don't hope."  
  
The man hollowly laughed, and Minerva leant a trembling hand against the cold metal of the key. Tom Riddle did the same, covering half of her hand with his. It was not a pleasant feeling, but Minerva ignored it and closed her eyes.  
  
"One. Two. Three."  
  
She felt Tom Riddle's hand squeeze hers and bit her lips, as a strange feeling, a feeling of being lifted up, covered her stomach.  
  
The next moment, with a bump, her feet touched a hard, stone floor. Still biting her lips, as if to gather her courage, Minerva opened her eyes.  
  
And looked straight into the eyes of Grindelwald. 


	7. Chapter Six

Grindelwald was…  
  
Minerva couldn't exactly explain what she felt or saw as she, quite accidentally indeed, looked straight into the great Dark Wizard's eyes.   
  
His eyes were black. That at least was a fact; his eyes were a deep kind of black. The color of deep, of bottomless lakes. An endless darkness- and yet. There was something else in them- something even Minerva, intelligent, witty Minerva could not really define.   
  
Before she quickly lowered her eyes again, she permitted herself one last, small, hidden glance at him. His hair immediately struck her. It was- a kind of dark red, but not the usual sort of red. It was as if it had once been the same, dark color as his eyes, but as if it had- rusted… Yes. That was exactly the way it looked, as if long age had turned deep darkness into something softer. Softer- more fiery. It was a queer color indeed, yet Minerva logically assumed it was natural. Well, what else could it be? The Darkest Lord ever -since Salazar Slytherin himself, perhaps- did probably not dye his hair.  
  
"Look at me." the- man?- said, and Minerva gratefully, yet more hesitant than she'd expected, obeyed.  
  
His face was very pale, and his pronounced cheekbones threw darker shadows on it. Grindelwald, in fact, looked strangely cold. Not the coldness of death, though. Oh no, Grindelwald was very much alive indeed.   
  
The coldness, of…  
  
And for the very first time in her life, Minerva felt deep fear. Deep, profound fear, fear for Grindelwald. Because suddenly, she'd realized that this person was no idiot.   
  
Well, what had she expected, after all?   
  
This was the wizard who had managed to take over the entire world in five years; of course he wasn't an idiot.   
  
Yet, he still was somehow more- impressive than Minerva had ever expected him to be. Darker. Cleverer. More- more addictive.  
  
Minerva gazed into his eyes and understood why so many people had given their lives for him.  
  
Minerva gazed into his eyes and was lost.  
  
But not for long.  
  
After what felt like hours, but in fact could be hardly more than wee seconds, Minerva fell on her knees before the Dark Lord.   
  
"Milord." she muttered, bowing her head. Her black hair, which she wore loosely now, fell in front of her face and she was secretly thankful it did. It was more difficult than she'd expected it to be to keep her composure. She, who could always, under all circumstances, maintain that very own appearance of determinedness that was her own…  
  
But here- here was a wizard who was intelligent. Evil, but intelligent.  
  
Yet.  
  
If he was intelligent, then she had to be more intelligent.  
  
If he was sly, then she had to be more sly.   
  
Her brains had always been her strength, after all.  
  
Grindelwald looked down on her, then curled his thin lips into a devious smile.  
  
"Miss McGonagall. The daughter of, I suppose?"  
  
Minerva's head almost snapped up. Only with the greatest difficulty she managed to control herself. He still remembered her parents? Well, of course he did, she reprimanded herself. Why wouldn't he, after all?   
  
"And, Minerva McGonagall, why does such a smart girl -as you, considering who your parents were, definitely are- come to me? Because after all, I consider it now my unpleasant task to kill you."   
  
He had uttered those words in such a cold, such a hard tone, then he make a faint gesture with his left hand and a wizard strode forward.  
  
Minerva's heart banged like hell, yet she, seemingly calm, answered  
  
"I have come to join you, Milord. I've got information which I think could be of a certain use to you."  
  
Grindelwald raised his hand again, and let his eyes dwell freely over her kneeled body. Minerva shivered, yet bit her lips.   
  
"Alright. You have two minutes to explain me. After all…" He grinned.  
  
"Why should I deny such a pretty little thing those wee minutes of my time?"  
  
Minerva felt like vomiting again, but knew nonetheless this was something included in her task. To oppress feelings of slight sickness was a needed sacrifice for her. A needed sacrifice in order to save the world.  
  
She opened her mouth and talked quickly, talked determinedly.  
  
"Thursday morning, 8 o'clock, a large amount of gold- thousands of galleons- that belongs to the Ministry will be transported. They are doing it in broad daylight, so as not to arouse suspicions. Only two wizards will be guarding it."  
  
Grindelwald raised his eyebrows and smiled his sly grin once more.  
  
"Good, Miss McGonagall. Assuming it is true- what keeps me from killing you now?"  
  
Minerva raised her chin and spoke clearly  
  
"The fact that I know where it will happen and you do not."  
  
To her great surprise, the Dark Lord nodded approvingly, extended his hand and helped Minerva to stand up.  
  
"Really a clever one, aren't you, little Miss McGonagall? I can appreciate cleverness- at least, I can appreciate it in a beautiful young woman."   
  
He allowed his eyes once more to slide along her figure, and smiled again, pointing at a low chair opposite his larger one.  
  
"Sit down and tell me the truth. Why have you come here? Perhaps you have come to join me, perhaps you haven't, but there must be a reason anyway. Last time I heard of you, you were Albus Dumbledore's little love-struck pupil. What has happened since then?"  
  
He talked to her like old friends did, Minerva noticed, and she almost knew for sure it was a trick. She really wasn't that blind. Trying to gain her confidence he was. He wouldn't succeed though. Not as long as her name was Minerva Jean McGonagall.  
  
And it was.  
  
Yet, she knew she needed all her courage now. For this was the hardest part.  
  
"I," she began, trying to look straight into his eyes. She found it extremely hard, though.  
  
"I have, first of all, never been in love with Albus Dumbledore."   
  
First lie.  
  
"Milord, the reason I have come to you is a simple one. I believe that you are right. My parents were wrong. I didn't realize that back then, but now, I know they were wrong and I even- I even know it was probably necessary to eliminate them."  
  
Minerva heard the tears in her voice, as did Grindelwald. Luckily, he interpreted them the wrong way.   
  
"I understand that is a hard thought to you, Miss McGonagall, but I am glad you appear to realize it was inevitable."  
  
Minerva bit her lips and nodded, yet sent a silent prayer up above to her parents, begging them to forgive her, as she went on.  
  
"Yes, I do understand that. I love them for they were my parents, but I hate them for their stupid stubbornness, which caused their own deaths. And that is why I came to you. Because, even though you made me an orphan, you gave me the chance to find out who was right and who was wrong. After school, I enrolled Auror training, but now I've quit it. I've broken with them all. Albus Dumbledore loves me, but I do not love him back. I hate him."  
  
Second, third, fourth… up to perhaps sixtieth lie…  
  
Now only was the question- would Lord Grindelwald believe it? She knew she had told it credibly- hard, but with still an undertone of humanity. But would he… or not?  
  
With a slightly more grim expression on his face, Grindelwald stood up.  
  
"I believe you or I don't believe you, Miss McGonagall. We shall see. You will stay here until Thursday. If your information is correct, you can stay here and I will consider you one of us. If your information is incorrect…"  
  
He hollowly laughed, and Minerva felt her hands tremble. If only Alastor had made sure there would actually *be* a transport of gold… But she could only pray now.  
  
"But now, firstly, tell me the place."  
  
She had no choice. She now just had to trust him. But, she thought bitterly, did anyone realize how hard it was to trust your life to someone who had murdered your parents?  
  
Yet, in a soft voice, she told him the carefully learnt by heart address.  
  
He nodded.  
  
"I sincerely hope it is correct. It would be such a pity to murder something so sweet."  
  
He glanced at her once more. Minerva totally refused to look him in the eye.   
  
"Meia!"  
  
He had hardly pronounced the name, or there the door went open and a small, frail-looking young woman entered. Her skin was white and her light grey eyes were lowered in a very submissive way.  
  
"Bring Miss McGonagall to one of the spare rooms."  
  
"Very well, my Lord." the woman answered in a soft, trembling tone. She turned to Minerva.  
  
"Follow me, please."   
  
And Minerva obeyed. 


	8. Chapter Seven

Meia- for that had been her name, hadn't it?- walked very quickly, and Minerva had difficulty with keeping up with her as they went up stairs, walked through corridors, went down stairs again, crossed large halls… Minerva could only wonder where she was now, but she was confident she'd find that out soon enough. No, her only worry was now the money shipment. True- Alastor had told her it would be there, but still… Would it be enough to convince Grindelwald? Though Alastor and Mr. Flamel had promised to create a fair amount of gold- using the Philosopher's Stone, of course…- they still could not use it unlimitedly.   
  
Minerva had to admit her opinion of Grindelwald had slightly changed through her little talk with him. She, who had always linked evilness to stupidity, now realized that that was not true- at least, not always. Grindelwald was not stupid.   
  
Well, she was not stupid as well.  
  
But before she could go on worrying, the girl who had been her guide had turned around and opened a door.  
  
"Here it is." she, still in that soft, docile voice, said, not looking the other woman in the eye. One quick glance from beneath her eyelashes was enough, though, to fill Minerva with a sudden feeling of recognition. Before the young woman could take up her quick pace again and leave her companion alone, Minerva rested a hesitating hand on her arm.  
  
"Wait-" she said, not really knowing why. "Are you- well, yes… Meia Abernethie, isn't it? Ravenclaw, three years above me?"  
  
Just the feeling of being recognized was apparently enough to Meia to melt a part of that strange, timid attitude. A careful, shy smile curled her lips.  
  
"Yes. And you are Minerva McGonagall, I suppose- Gryffindor, weren't you?"  
  
Minerva just nodded, mirroring the other woman's smile with her own.  
  
Meia Abernethie. Yes, Minerva did remember this girl. Minerva had been fourteen when Meia had been in her 7th year, but Meia herself hadn't looked a day older than fifteen, then. Always a small, slender figure, she had been, and always a shy one.  
  
But not as unnaturally as she was now.  
  
And what, Minerva realized with quite a shock, what the hell did this girl- this girl in whom, though shy, had never been a single molecule of evil- here, in the center of all malice of the world?  
  
The answer came quickly, and even before Minerva had asked for it.  
  
"Now I am not Meia Abernethie anymore, though. My name is now Meia Malfoy."  
  
Minerva felt her jaw drop and she simply could not stop it. Malfoy? Malfoy? It couldn't be…  
  
"Malfoy?" she asked, questioningly narrowing her eyes. As if she did not know the significance of that name…  
  
Meia nodded and softly commented  
  
"Yes. I am the wife of Anselmus Malfoy."  
  
Minerva read the reluctance in the other woman's eyes, oppressed her urge to ask more, smiled and just nodded.  
  
Meia faintly answered her smile, yet, in a somewhat brusque gesture, turned towards the door again.   
  
"Well, I- I must go now. Do you-"  
  
A new, uncomfortable expression crept into the light eyes as she muttered, suddenly holding a key in her right hand,  
  
"Do you mind my locking the door- orders from the Master."  
  
Minerva just nodded and waved her hand.  
  
"Do whatever you have to do."  
  
And Meia Malfoy nodded and, with a mere rustle of her light blue gown, closed the door behind her back, leaving a very confused and tired Minerva McGonagall behind.  
  
The wife of Anselmus Malfoy? That girl?  
  
With a slight shake of her head, Minerva dropped on the large, rather luxurious four-poster-bed in the corner of the room.   
  
Oh yes, she very well knew Anselmus- as everybody knew him. Yet- not only he must be about- ten?- years Meia's senior, he also had always been known as a very dark wizard, and though Minerva had never known much about Meia Abernethie nor her family, but one thing at least she knew for sure. This woman- this girl- was not evil.   
  
This was not a member of the Mass Murderers Gang. This was not a follower of the Horrible Torturers United. This was one frightened girl.  
  
Because- even though Meia had to be about twenty-three years old and thus three years Minerva's senior- Minerva found it very hard to think of Meia as a married woman.  
  
As the wife of Anselmus Malfoy.  
  
As Meia Malfoy.  
  
No, Minerva decided, to her, Meia was and stayed Meia Abernethie, that timid, frail-looking Ravenclaw with her big, grey eyes.  
  
Because why on earth could she ever have considered marrying Anselmus-slimy-evil-git-Malfoy?  
  
Minerva's intuition immediately yelled "Imperius Curse!", but she had to admit that was highly improbable. Even notorious Death Eaters like the Malfoys didn't use the Imperius Curse just to keep their own wives under control. Or couldn't, for that matter, because Minerva, as an ex-Auror-In-Training, very well knew how difficult it was to perform an Imperius Curse, especially for a longer period of time.   
  
And Meia simply *had* not been on an Imperius. Minerva had very intensively been studying the Curses and their side effects, and she knew very well Meia's eyes were in the least not vague enough to be under such an Unforgivable Curse. Unless it was, perhaps, an unknown variant of…  
  
But Minerva shook her head. Now she mustn't get paranoid over it. Perhaps Meia Abernethie just appeared to love the man. Was such a thing that impossible?  
  
Minerva secretly thought it was. 


	9. Chapter Eight

Minerva McGonagall slept well that night, despite her worries and despite being locked up in a lonely room in an unknown castle. It had been a tiring day, after all, and after casting a quick spell on the door- if she couldn't get out, they would not be able to get in as well!- she, without even bothering to change, dropped between the soft, grey blankets and lost herself in a dreamless sleep.  
  
The moment she woke up, though, her strangely unfamiliar surroundings reminded her immediately of the situation she was in. A dangerous situation.  
  
And as she sat up straight and oppressed a soft yawn, she also remembered what day it was. Wednesday. So tomorrow…  
  
Yet, she determinedly nodded. Yes- tomorrow, her faith would be settled. Death- or life indeed.  
  
But of course Alastor would take care of the gold. It was really quite childish of her to have such doubts- ridiculous. However, - she admitted, because it was the truth- Grindelwald had frightened her in a way she'd hardly thought possible. He had not really disgusted her, actually, but he had frightened her.  
  
Minerva sighed and got out of bed. She had noticed a small bathroom attached to her room- perhaps some cold water straight in her face could help her see things rationally again.  
  
But before she could push the door- a soft knock interrupted her. A knock on the other door- the door which lead to the corridor. She shivered, yet immediately scolded herself for her cowardice, then grabbed her wand and muttered "Finite Incantatem" before the person on the other side of the door could turn the key. As the door went open she, to her great relief indeed, looked straight into the big, grey eyes of Meia Abernethie- or Meia Malfoy, in fact.   
  
"Good morning." the girl muttered, treating Minerva to a small smile. She was holding a large plate and explained  
  
"I am sorry if I have woken you- but I have brought your breakfast with me."  
  
Minerva nodded and smiled.  
  
"You haven't woken me, Meia, thank you. You can put the plate on the table, and…"  
  
But before she could even pose her question, Meia had already reluctantly shook her head.  
  
"You cannot leave your room today, I am sorry, M-Minerva."  
  
She obviously found it hard to call the other woman by her first name- natural shyness, perhaps.  
  
"We have orders from the Master."  
  
Orders from the Master, orders from the Master! Was that all this girl cared about? "Orders from the Master"? Could she, bloody hell, then not even think for herself?  
  
No, of course she couldn't. Minerva knew she couldn't show too much frustration. She was, after all, nothing more than a prisoner here. Tomorrow that would perhaps change, but for now, she was a suspected prisoner and she had to be grateful her cage, though it really was a cage, was at least a golden one. Yet, she sighed as she sat down before the plate.  
  
"I am sorry, Meia, but I don't understand. I have come here- I have given your- the Master some important information and yet I am nothing less than held captive here."  
  
"I am sorry, Minerva, orders from the Master." Meia answered mechanically and Minerva, who felt her temper rise dangerously, gritted her teeth and smiled.  
  
"It is alright- I understand. But what shall I do here, the whole day long?"  
  
Meia shrugged her shoulders in a somewhat stiff way and pointed her chin towards the bookcase in the corner of the room.  
  
"You can read, I suppose. There are a whole lot of books in that case- or you can play chess."  
  
Minerva almost rolled her eyes at this obviously stupid offer.  
  
"I can't play chess on my own, Meia. Can you play chess, by the way?"  
  
Meia obviously shrunk back at this hidden hint. Her back still turned towards the door, she stepped back. "As if I am a wild animal!" Minerva thought. "My God, who has made this child so damn paranoid?" In a way- she was a wild animal, of course- Minerva grinned at that thought- but Tabby, as she secretly called her Animagus form, was not dangerous. At least- when her "owner" had her temper under control.  
  
"No, I cannot." Meia muttered, before she hastily retreated and left a frustrated Minerva behind.   
  
So Minerva McGonagall spent her day reading- not a disliked pastime of hers, but not exactly the kind of thing she could concentrate on, at the moment. Yet she had to admit that some of them quite interested her. It was all about Dark Magic, of course, but as an ex-AIT, that was a natural fascination of hers. Aurors needed to be acquainted with Dark Magic- to be able to fight it properly, of course. The day went quicker than she'd ever thought possible- though she still was worried about Meia. She couldn't help it- but she felt sorry for the girl as she, at noon, saw the fear in her eyes as Meia handed her a new plate.   
  
She spent the afternoon reading some more- she'd discovered a mighty interesting book on illegal Animagus training and some obviously very restricted potions- yet, as she could even less properly concentrate, she took the decision to try to find out some more about Meia as she came to deliver her dinner.  
  
But it was not Meia who visited Minerva that evening.  
  
From the moment she heard the noise with which the key was inserted in the keyhole, she realized it was not Meia, and for a moment she considered locking her room. She knew that would be very rash indeed, so she left it open despite her feeling of fear.  
  
Her fear was well founded, because the person who threw open the door was no-one less than Tom Marvolo Riddle. And he was angry. Very angry.  
  
"Riddle?" Minerva spoke, standing up, trying to keep her arrogance up. But before she could utter one more word, the boy- man- had smacked down the plate on the table, took her by the throat and jammed her with her back against the wall.  
  
"McGonagall," he hissed. enclosing her throat with his fingers more with every single word.  
  
"The Master may not see through you, but I do. Have you heard me? I do!"  
  
His face was now very close to Minerva's. The girl felt her breath run out more every second. She scratched his hands with her fingernails, tried to release herself, but she, who had always been such a powerful witch, now had to admit- Tom Riddle was physically her stronger.  
  
And he could only nod now, as he pushed her head hard against the bare wall. A sharp fit of pain shot through her head.  
  
"Have you heard me? Oh no- I won't kill you now, my dear. I won't even hurt you. Isn't that a great relief? But I will do so later!"  
  
His fingers released her throat. Minerva, half unconscious, succumbed on the floor, and Tom Riddle laughed.  
  
"Goodbye, Minerva."  
  
Only when he'd slammed the door shut and locked it again, Minerva, tremblingly and feeling more dead than alive, dragged herself towards the bed and fell down on it.  
  
She felt her whole body shake- she still saw his face etched on the inside of her eye. She had always considered herself brave- but now she had been so scared! So very, very scared!  
  
She felt tears drip from her eyes on the pillow. She totally lacked the strength to wipe them away and closed her eyes.  
  
But one thing at least was sure. She had to succeed. Everything- everything was better than giving Tom Riddle his bit of wicked fun!  
  
Yet that night, Minerva McGonagall for the very first time in her life, cried herself to sleep. Her last thought was one which told everything, though.  
  
"Albus…" 


	10. Chapter Nine

The next day, Minerva woke up with stained tears still on her face and a terribly aching neck, feeling absolutely dreadful. Yet, the small ray of sun, which reached her face through the only window of the room, helped her to pull herself together and get out of bed. She had to, after all, she sternly reminded herself. This was a mission. A professional arrangement, just a job.  
  
Just a job she could lose her life with, though.  
  
But she mustn't think of that. She really mustn't.  
  
And she perhaps could have managed- if there hadn't been the sore feeling in her neck which formed an excellent reminder.  
  
And so- as she dragged herself towards the bathroom and cast a quick glance at her reflection in the mirror- the unhealthy-looking redness of the usually so pale skin of her neck was the first thing she remarked. Minerva frowned as she tried to pull the collar of her robes a bit higher. She had to hide this- if she didn't, someone, perhaps Meia, would certainly notice it and then… Perhaps it wasn't the best thing to do to accuse Tom Riddle now.  
  
With a sigh, Minerva changed her robes into the ones with the highest neckline she could find in the wardrobe. They still were rather low-cut, though. It was obviously the habit of the female guests of Grindelwald to stroll around half naked!   
  
Minerva snorted. Well, that wasn't exactly *her* habit!  
  
And yes, she knew that the only reason she had been hired for this job was that she, young and fairly pretty, had the so-called "ability" to get to know a little bit more than any male spy ever could. Minerva snorted again and shook her head. It was her mission- though Alastor had tried to somewhat veil the truth- to gain Grindelwald's confidence and if necessary seduce him into it. She was realistic enough to face that fact. Minerva didn't know whether she could ever muster the courage to really do so- because it in fact opposed all her ideals and standards- but on the other hand she knew it was necessary. She wasn't prepared for it, though. Not at all- not yet.  
  
And her aching neck formed the ideal excuse to wear her own, comfortable, rather prim robes a day longer.  
  
So she, slowly but not reluctantly, started to put on her robes- the robes she had slept in- again.   
  
It was the only thing she could do, she mentally defended herself. Her stained tears she could and she would wash away, as well as the clotted blood on the back of her head- her face grimaced as she touched the wound- but she couldn't do anything to hide the redness of her skin.  
  
She would wear her hair down- so as to at least conceal it a little- but she just had to hope the best of it.  
  
And she really, really had to finally pull herself together. She was frightened, yes, and her fear for Grindelwald and especially Tom Riddle had never been heavier, but here she was and here she stayed. And she knew her only chance to survive was calmness.   
  
She had to be composed, cool- arrogant even.   
  
But Minerva immediately broke her silent promise as a soft knock on the door reached her ears. Though she somehow did know Tom Riddle would never take the risk twice- he knew she was prepared now- yet still she jumped up and felt her hands tremble. Because was she prepared after all? No, she wasn't!  
  
"Who is there?"   
  
Despite her fright, her voice was steady and she secretly was proud of it. But she was even more relieved than proud when the well-known soft voice answered.  
  
"Meia. I bring your breakfast."  
  
With a soft sigh, Minerva raised her wand and took the locking charms off the door.  
  
"Come in."  
  
The next moment, the door opened and Meia Malfoy put the plate down on the table, then looked strangely at Minerva.   
  
"Why- did you have your door locked?"  
  
"I-"  
  
But Meia interrupted Minerva's weak answer by a soft cry and she covered her mouth with her hand, her grey eyes very big.  
  
"What is wrong with your neck- it's… it's all red… and are that welts or… fingerprints?"  
  
Minerva desperately shook her head and a slight feeling of pain shot through her body because of the sudden movement.  
  
"It's- it's nothing, really."  
  
Meia shook her head and then nodded, obviously very confused.  
  
"My god- this girl lives in the center of all violence, and yet she's shocked by just a few marks on my neck!" Minerva thought quite sarcastically.   
  
"It's not nothing, Minerva, it's… it's…"  
  
"It's an allergy!" Minerva exclaimed suddenly, silently thanking God for the *genial* brain wave.  
  
"Yes, it's an allergy, really! I am allergic for- for cheese. The omelet I ate last night must have contained some cheese!"  
  
Meia didn't look very convinced, yet shrugged her shoulders and smiled faintly.  
  
"Well, I guess you know best." she continued in her usual, frail tone.  
  
"Now please eat your breakfast, because I have been ordered to bring you to the master. He has- he has some news for you, I believe…"  
  
News? Already?  
  
But as Minerva checked her small, pocket watch, she realized it was almost midday. She had slept longer than ever before- but perhaps that was forgivable under the present situation.   
  
Suddenly, she was struck again with her nervousness of yesterday.  
  
What would the news be?  
  
Death or life?  
  
Tom Riddle's victory… or the first, careful step towards her victory?  
  
She had to admit- in the horse race between life and death, life's odds were 99 to 1.  
  
Yet she had to hope.   
  
Because if she didn't hope, then, and only then, hope would be lost.  
  
And after all- Alastor had promised the gold to be there and Alastor wasn't the man to break his promises out of thoughtlessness. It had to be there. It just had to.  
  
And if it wasn't, then she would die. Period.  
  
For some reason, this thought was somewhat of a reassure to Minerva. It was strange, because she was frightened of death, but in a way, the definiteness, the peace of it was not all unappealing to her.   
  
So Minerva smiled, ate, and then followed Meia.  
  
Again.  
  
To Grindelwald. 


	11. Chapter Ten

Though Meia's slight, hesitating curling of the lips probably was meant to be a reassuring smile, the totally opposite effect of it was almost funny- almost. Minerva felt the nervousness rush more and more through her entire body, and even though she tried to control it- inhale, exhale!- she very well knew it was no use. No use at all, actually, because she had never before known real nervousness- so how could she ever have learnt how to control it.  
  
Somehow, she did, though, because she mirrored the smile of the girl with a brave one of her own.  
  
"Well- this is it, Minnie-Min." she quite ironically thought, unconsciously using the old nickname of her early childhood- perhaps as a verbal remembrance of her late parents.  
  
"Let's face it, girl- it's life or death now. And probably death."  
  
She nodded and smiled again. She perfectly well realized this piece of I-don't-care-ness was plain self-deceit- she *did* care- but it was better than nothing, now wasn't it?  
  
Yet she couldn't keep her jaw from slightly dropping as Meia lead her into what probably was the most beautifully decorated hall she had ever seen. Even the Great Hall at Hogwarts…   
  
Yes, the Great Hall was larger, but this…  
  
This, Minerva decided, this was as if you entered… history. Yes. This hall had a medieval sort of greatness- there was absolutely nothing modern about it. It was- it felt as if you stepped right into what could easily have been the court of King Henry VIII.  
  
"Anne Boleyn enters the throne room." Minerva thought, and then, quite carefully, touched her neck. "Let's just hope I don't end like her."  
  
A wave of pain shot through her neck and she hastily retreated her hand. Bloody Riddle.  
  
Riddle.  
  
Minerva saw Grindewald, sitting on his throne, but even more did she notice the person sitting on a lower chair on his right hand.  
  
Tom Marvolo Riddle…  
  
Minerva's heartbeat stopped. Well, okay, it didn't, but she very much felt as if it did. No- no, it couldn't be true… But if it was…  
  
"And, McGonagall, ready to die?" the boy- man- dryly commented, and Minerva startled. She didn't startle because of his words, though. No, she startled because the use of such rash words in such… interesting… surroundings almost felt like sacrilege to her.  
  
So- "Shut up, Riddle!" she, more fiercely than she'd wanted it to be, exclaimed, sending a really quite dangerous look in his direction.   
  
Minerva held her breath as soon as she'd realized what she had said. Had she gone too far?  
  
But to her great surprise, Grindelwald didn't even defend his disciple. He didn't even look at Tom, actually.  
  
His eyes were fixed on Minerva with a thoughtful, almost- sympathetic- look as he lazily waved his hand.  
  
"Tom, leave us alone. Meia, you go too."  
  
The two people- the one more reluctant than the other- proved once more to be well-trained, because they both immediately left the room, and Minerva found herself alone in one room with the most dangerous wizard of probably all time.  
  
"You don't really like Riddle, now do you?"  
  
It sounded sincere, and Minerva gave a sincere answer- despite the nerves that only grew worse and worse. Was he playing a game with her?  
  
"No. I-I think he's an idiot."  
  
Grindelwald faintly smiled and tapped the chair next to his.  
  
"He is an idiot, Minerva. Sit down."  
  
This sudden, familiar use of her first name surprised Minerva, and quite taken aback, she obeyed.  
  
"Most people are idiots, Minerva, you'll learn that when you grow older. Don't think everybody is intelligent. They're not."  
  
Minerva could only nod and- despite herself- found herself staring at the man before her with fascination. He slightly smiled- though his lips did not move, Minerva could read it in his dark eyes.  
  
"Listen, Minerva, you were right, we've captured the gold. Thank you for the help and you're now officially one of us."  
  
The woman's jaw dropped, more openly now, but she didn't think that could do any harm. Her head was swimming and she really couldn't help it. Such a load of information- and so suddenly.  
  
Yet she was happy. She really was happy. Tom Riddle had not won. Tom Riddle had not won!  
  
At least- not yet.  
  
Because with quite a bang, Minerva landed back on earth again.   
  
This was but one step. This was just the "proof" of her sudden switching sides…  
  
Now…  
  
But her thoughts were interrupted by the strangely heavy feeling on a larger hand on her slender one.  
  
"Now, Minerva, I believe we have things to discuss…" 


	12. Chapter Eleven

"Yes, I really think we do have things to discuss…" Grindelwald repeated his own words with a faint grin. His dark, reddish, thick hair reached his shoulders now- he almost looked royal.  
  
Minerva, who was at total loss for words, pretended to be thinking for a moment, then slowly nodded. Her throat was unable to produce sound of any kind, and that was for heaven's sake no acting! It were his eyes, she decided. His eyes. Grindelwald's eyes, Minerva vaguely realized, Grindelwald's eyes were bewitching. Truly bewitching, though not entirely in a positive way. But those depths, those mirrors of dark, black-greyish abyss, exactly those, made Minerva, again, understand what it had been, that had driven all those people to sacrifice themselves for this man.   
  
To dedicate themselves to this man, to this powerful, but dark wizard.   
  
What scared her the most, though, was the fact that she almost felt like one of them. Almost.   
  
Because, she believed, it were exactly the logical, sceptical Scottish spirits of the late parents she had seemingly betrayed, that kept her from losing her head. She had to stay calm, she had to stay cool, she had to keep on rationally thinking.  
  
This man, this wizard had killed them, her parents. He was evil and thus had to be destroyed.  
  
Yes. Yes. A logical deduction.  
  
And, after all, Minerva McGonagall had always been good at logical deductions…  
  
Suddenly feeling quite a bit more relieved, the girl slowly inhaled and exhaled again, then curled her lips into an almost true smile  
  
"Yes, my Lord. I think we indeed may have."  
  
At these words, the Dark Lord contentedly smiled and stroked her slender hand once more.  
  
"The first thing," he then began, in that deep, but not entirely heartless voice of his.  
  
"The first thing we have to decide is, of course, how your quick, witty little mind can be made useful for our purpose."  
  
With this, he slightly paused and thoughtfully looked into her eyes, seeking for an answer to the question he had not yet put. She did not know exactly what he meant, yet stared back with what she hoped was a believably innocent gaze.  
  
"You're a highly intelligent young woman, Minerva," Grindelwald then spoke.  
  
"You must have understood by now what exactly our purpose is."  
  
Minerva nodded in relief, even managed to faintly smile. This was something she very well knew. Who did not, after all?  
  
"To rid the planet of all creatures unworthy of living." she promptly uttered, lowering her eyes in what she considered an appropriate fashion.  
  
She couldn't fail to see his satisfied smile, though. He still held her hand and again squeezed in what felt to her like a quite unpleasant way. Or- was it unpleasant? She could hardly oppress the urge to shake her head. It was all so vague now…  
  
"And what, pray tell me, Minerva, do you consider creatures unworthy of living?"  
  
With a small, but hopefully unnoticed shiver, Minerva spoke the words she had to say- and disgusted herself by saying them.  
  
"Werewolves, descendants of vampires, Veela's, giants or other non-human magical beings, muggles, and, of course, mudbloods."  
  
The nonchalant "of course" was the hardest for her to speak out aloud. It was true- she herself maybe was pure-blooded, but many of her friends, among whom Rolanda Hooch, were not…  
  
She looked up at Grindelwald, read the tensed expectation in his eyes, and quickly, softly added  
  
"And all those who sympathize with them."  
  
And this sentence cut straight through her heart. Because Albus, dear, darling Albus who she loved with all her heart and who she had hurt so much… Albus Dumbledore, she knew, was considered, especially by these people, the leader of this second group of "unworthy creatures".   
  
"Good, Minerva!"  
  
The soft pat of his hand on her shoulder sickened her. How could a person be so mad as to really believe in these so-called "ideals"?   
  
"Now we only have to decide which task will be fulfilled by you. I must say- I already have something in mind, and…"  
  
He ended his sentence here, and Minerva did, almost automatically now, what she obviously was supposed to do.  
  
"Which one, my Lord?" she asked, a sincere hint of curiosity in her tone.  
  
But Grindelwald just smiled and clapped his hands.  
  
Immediately, somewhere, something began to stir and then, all of a sudden, a large drapery descended out of the sky against the wall opposite where Minerva and Grindelwald were sitting. Minerva's jaw dropped. What? How?  
  
But before she could ask a thing, she was immediately silenced by the beauty of the tapestry. It indeed was nothing less than stunning, even Minerva had to admit that. Hundreds of different, radiant colours were woven through it, and the picture they formed was sheer artwork. As Minerva let her eyes wander over the different figures on it, only slowly the realization of what exactly it showed dawned.  
  
A large, deep green, almost vivid-looking snake wound itself against the textile and right next to it, a just as brilliant, royal, cat-like animal opened its majestic muzzle and roared.  
  
It was a lioness.  
  
Beneath the animals was written in curling, golden letters  
  
"Unitas Mirabile Vinculum"  
  
and under those three words, smaller and yet somehow just as powerful  
  
"per serpentem leamque vicimus"  
  
"Shall I translate?" Grindelwald offered, yet Minerva did not hear him. Slowly, softly, fascinatedly and more to herself than to the Dark Lord, she muttered the translation. Yes, she did know Latin.  
  
"Wonderful Bond of Unity... through snake and lion we'll conquer?"  
  
It was in fact, more a question than a translation. Minerva did not understand the significance of this. Yes, it was a beautiful wall decoration, but surely this wasn't the time nor the place to show Grindelwald's interior designs to her, now was it?  
  
But Grindelwald, obviously oblivious of her uncertainty, nodded, then smiled, took her hands once more and lead her forwards until her nose almost touched the soft texture.   
  
"Lioness, Minerva. Lioness."  
  
And suddenly, Minerva grasped what he was referring to. Her jaw dropped again, but slightly for other reasons than Grindelwald obviously thought it was dropping.   
  
"Yes," he proudly stated, his eyes roaming over the large picture.  
  
"Yes, Minerva. You are the power we need to win. You and only you. Your coming to this place was no coincidence. The Gods have brought you here to me. Together, Minerva, we will rule..."  
  
His voice sounded proud. Proud and mad. He was mad, Minerva realized. He was a madman. He most surely was. But a madman with influence... and thus, a very dangerous madman indeed.  
  
Grindelwald looked at her again, and this combined to the sudden almost... ethereal atmosphere in the room felt uncomfortable to Minerva, and, so as to get back to earth again, she dryly asked  
  
"What are the conditions?"  
  
Her voice echoed strangely through the large room, and for a moment, she thought she had gone too far, but then Grindelwald smiled, took her arm and lead her back to his "throne". After quickly conjuring a chair for her, he sat down again and folded his hands. Then, in a sudden way more earthy, and somehow more dangerous, voice, he said, shrugging his shoulders  
  
"Marriage, if you insist. I suppose most women want a marriage- I don't see why, though. Because if you agree, and you will agree, we will be high above every law of men or nature."  
  
The casually muttered "and you will agree" did not quite appeal to Minerva, yet she lightly bowed her head. Inwardly, she was screaming, though. Stay cool! Stay awake! Constant vigilance!   
  
Suddenly, perhaps partly because of this quoting of her tutor and friend the Head Auror, she felt like crying and hitting herself hard on the head. Minerva had to be honest with herself- she was impressed by all this! She was flattered by his big words! She did feel special because of the large, colourful tapestry!  
  
And it was all so ridiculous! So damn ridiculous! He could have spoken these very words to about hundred women before! And yet, a nasty little voice said in the back of her head... "he couldn't have made such a tapestry for a hundred women before, now could he?"  
  
But Grindelwald interrupted her thoughts.  
  
"Plus,"   
  
He smiled what, she supposed, he considered a charming smile- but the darkness in his eeys told another story...  
  
"Wifes cannot charge their husbands in our current legal system..."  
  
Minerva did look up now, not even bothering to hide the anger in her dark green eyes. She did consider it quite appropriate, now.  
  
"Now that is not much of a romantic proposal, is it, my Lord?"  
  
"Ah," answered the Dark Lord, with a small, strange curtsy towards the young woman.  
  
"But I figured you, my Lady, were not quite the person for romance, now are you? Besides..."  
  
"I am not just marrying anyone."  
  
Okay, perhaps it was stupid to say this. Okay, perhaps she had ruined all her chances. But really, Minerva felt sick and frightened and when the McGonagall temper flared...  
  
Well, then it did flare! Minerva thought, as she boldly stared into the Dark Lord's eyes.   
  
But she had to admit, the Dark Lord behaved quite like the gentleman. He only blinked a couple of times, then smiled.  
  
"Of course not, my Lady, I had not expected it to be otherwise. But please accept...."  
  
He took a small, dark red box out of his pocket and took her hand.  
  
"... this as a sincerely proof of my courtship."  
  
A small, silver ring with a brilliant ruby on it now added a reddish glow to her left ring finger, and Minerva could hardly swallow. Yes, it was beautiful.  
  
Yes, he was crazy beyond words.  
  
Because, as he galantly extended his arm to help her stand up again, she realized he really did behave like a renaissance king- really like Henry the Eighth!- who was courting a young Lady-in-Waiting.  
  
Anne Boleyn, Minerva once more realized, and again, the painful association made her lightly touch her still aching neck. Anne Boleyn, the young woman who had, years ago, captured the heart of a King- and lost it again. Minerva closed her eyes and tried not to remember that one, mere fact that she of all people knew so well, though not many others had ever thought about it.  
  
The mere fact that Minerva McGonagall's mother had been a Boleyn.  
  
But it was not that fact nor it's consequences that made the Dark Lord frown as "his Lady" touched her neck. It was the fact that that neck looked red, bruised and quite painful indeed.   
  
He raised his hand to touch her, but as she whimpered he withdrew it. Minerva lowered her eyes.   
  
"Who..." he muttered, his voice filled with wrath.   
  
"Who has done this to you, Minerva?"  
  
One word was enough to ruin a certain person's faith for at least a while.  
  
"Riddle." Minerva muttered softly, knowing the truth needed to be told.  
  
"It was Tom Riddle, Milord."  
  
Grindelwald did not yell or ask things, he did not even examine her neck again. He just turned towards the large door and barked  
  
"Riddle! Meia!"  
  
The two people called for appeared almost immediately- Minerva even suspected them of eavesdropping, but from the nothing less than scared expression in Meia's soft, grey eyes, she realized that could not be true.  
  
Her thoughts were roughly cut off, though, when Grindelwald only muttered one more word.  
  
"Crucio."  
  
Minerva froze. The curse was not pointed at her nor at Meia, but she felt her whole body stiffen as Tom Riddle's hit the floor, shaking and twitching in pain. This was her doing, she realized with a shock. This was her fault, and true, she did not like... scratch that, she hated Tom Riddle, but this... this casual use of an Unforgivable disgusted her nonetheless.  
  
Meia did not move. She did not even blink, and Minerva again wondered in what kind of hell this child lived, when she did not even startle when someone was horribly tortured at her feet...  
  
Minerva did startle, though, and as soon as she found her voice back, she turned towards Grindelwald and almost begged  
  
"Make it stop!"  
  
He did obey, to her great surprise, and Tom Riddle stopped twitching. He was still lying on the floor though.  
  
"Stand up, Riddle."  
  
In the Dark Lord's voice was a darkness, an evilness that was quite new to Minerva. He had been so sweet with her, and now... It showed her at least one thing, though. This man was not to be trusted...  
  
"Meia, take Minerva with you and show her the castle. Minerva, I fear I and Tom must discuss some matters..."  
  
This was all he said, and after been given a light kiss on the hand, Minerva and Meia left.   
  
The first sentence Meia shared with Minerva, shocked her beyond words.  
  
"You should not have stopped him."  
  
"W- why not?"  
  
Without even looking at the other woman, Meia explained, flatly, almost automatically.  
  
"The Dark Lord only rightfully punishes."  
  
This made Minerva's free and stubborn mind shiver and yell at the same time. How could this be? How could this, this blindness, this following-without-thinking, how could this ever have grown to possess such an utterly good, honest girl like Meia Abernethie had been?   
  
The answer showed itself moments later, in the icy blue eyes of a man Minerva had met earlier- in Knockturn Alley, that was- and who suddenly blocked the passage of the two women.  
  
"Good morning, Meia. Good morning, Miss Minerva McGonagall..."  
  
Meia lowered her eyes, yet Minerva did not.  
  
"Good morning, Anselmus Malfoy." she greeted boldly.   
  
For a moment, she thought he'd tell her off for her clear, almost rude answer, but he did not. Instead, he grabbed his- wife's?- arm and pulled her aside.  
  
"Go to your room and stay there."  
  
"I have to guide..." was Meia's weak defense, but a hard tug of his hand made her shut up?  
  
"I will guide this lovely young woman around his place."  
  
And, the head bowed but oh-so-obvious tears in her eyes, Meia Malfoy-Abernethie obeyed. 


	13. Chapter Twelve

"May I offer you my arm, Milady?" muttered Anselmus Malfoy's polite, yet so cold voice in Minerva's ear. With a slight hesitant nod, Minerva accepted the gesture and allowed his arm to gently grab hers and drag her with him through the stone corridor.   
  
Usually- under normal circumstances, she would have told off any man imaginable who offered her his arm as if to direct her. She would have told him gracefully, but clearly, that she was a living and breathing creature that could walk on her own, thank you very much. But this, she recalled, as she allowed her fingers to settle down on the soft velvet of Anselmus's robe, was a quite exceptional situation. And she could not help it- but something in the light, icy blue eyes of this man frightened her more than Grindelwald's dark, deep pools ever could.   
  
So they walked together, arm in arm, in silence. Minerva felt Anselmus's Malfoy's piercing gaze rest on her almost the whole, and it was everything except an enjoyable feeling.  
  
But when the "inspection" was over, the "interrogation" started- and that was, perhaps, way worse.  
  
"So," he began, half-turning towards her with a lazy but inquiring smile.  
  
"Minerva Caitríona McGonagall."  
  
How did the bloody man know her middle name? Did everyone here know everything about her, then?  
  
Yet, she nodded and looked him straight into the eyes, her lips curled into something that- she knew it- could hardly be called a smile.  
  
"Yes, that's me."  
  
His smile grew broader and broader.  
  
"Oh yes, you certainly are."  
  
She did not know how to answer his rather strange glare, yet refused point blank to lower her eyes. She was perhaps playing a role- but she still was Minerva Caitríona McGonagall- tough child, strong one, and she didn't intend to show her weakness to a man like Anselmus Malfoy.  
  
"You certainly are…" he repeated, that smile still fixed on his face despite her somewhat bold gaze.  
  
As he raised his hand to softly stroke her cheek, she felt somewhat confused, though. What was she supposed to do- so as to "keep up her role", so as to remain the person he thought her to be? But the problem was exactly that- she could play a role like no-one else could, but playing just herself was difficult to her. She, always the honest one, the open one and the bold, now had to hide her true feelings behind a mask. Behind a mask- with her own face painted on it.  
  
It was already too late for ponderings though- because at Anselmus's soft, yet cold strokes across her cheek, she couldn't help but pull back rather brusquely.  
  
As she sent him a rather fiery look out of her dark green eyes, he almost grinned.  
  
"Minerva Caitríona indeed- quite a Scottish temper, haven't you?"  
  
Well, she could hardly deny that one… but still. His hand again found its earlier place on her cheek, and he smiled again.  
  
"You know, Minerva, when I was searching for a suitable wife, pathetic little Meia wasn't my first choice…"  
  
Searching for a suitable wife? My god- the man managed to make it sound as if he was buying a- but wait! All of a sudden, she realized the full significance of what he had just said- and she had to keep herself from fainting.  
  
Right, she inwardly summarized. So, she had received a proposal of marriage by the darkest Lord ever and her parents' murderer on top of it, his apprentice was half-obsessed by her AND his right hand was stroking her cheek in a very- significant way. Oh great- how beautiful life was!  
  
She controlled her facial features as well as she could- yet one faint blink she couldn't hold back.  
  
His smile told her he certainly had noticed it.  
  
"Yes, Minerva- I see you understand. It was you. But, since some people thought fifteen was too young an age to get married, so I wedded young Meia instead. Quite a pretty one as well, but no spirit, Caitríona, no spirit!"  
  
My god, that man had an obsessive gleam in his eyes, Minerva remarked as her eyes met his once more. Some people "thought" fifteen to be too young? Well- what did he want? A bloody foetus in his bed? Just the thought was enough to make Minerva shudder- and obviously, Malfoy noticed it. He averted his gaze again and she, slowly and somewhat unwillingly, slid her arm through his again.  
  
"Anyway, I am married to the Abernethie wench now- and with some luck she'll bear me a healthy heir once."  
  
His crude words were enough to make Minerva retreat her arm from his- but her self-control survived this time and she allowed him to guide her through the building.  
  
One rational thought remained through all despair she, deep inside, felt, though.  
  
Oh Albus- I _do_ love you. 


	14. Chapter Thirteen

"So as you see, the Lord has built himself a rather suitable home." Anselmus summarized as the unlikely couple found themselves in front of Minerva's rooms again.

"You are a lucky woman to get the opportunity to share them."

Minerva slightly nodded, not really knowing what to say- but apparently, no words were needed from her. With a stiff, curt bow, the fair-haired man greeted her, then turned around and left, leaving her alone.

With a deep sigh, the black-haired witch rested her right hand against the big, copper door knob- and with another sigh, she entered the room which she already started to label as "her own". It was a horrible thought that she even started to feel at home here- in the proverbial lair of the beast. She had noticed, though, while visiting various other rooms of the castle, that this particular room, appointed to her, was decorated in a much more- lighter way that the others. The emerald sheets, for example- it was almost as if it had been designed for her. She shivered at this thought. It was idiotic, of course- but still.

It was one of those curious, little things which only added to that rather alarming feeling she had. The feeling of "fitting in".

And it was so easy, so damn easy to just let go- to forget all those almost painful thoughts inside of her head and to just go with the flow. To forget about a mission she believed to be more impossible every passing day and to finally abandon that damn Gryffindor bravery nobody could possibly expect of her under these circumstances.

But she knew that all of it was rubbish.  
Because despite all nearly-abandoned bravery, despite all despair, one very strong emotion remained and would always remain, and it was pride. Minerva Caitríona McGonagall was and would always be way too proud a woman to ever surrender to a regime she so absolutely disagreed with. It was just something- close to unthinkable to her.

And Minerva Caitríona McGonagall was way too proud, too, to ever acknowledge the fact that she had been too weak to do what she'd been supposed to do. To prove Albus, who'd not wanted her to go, right.

She closed her eyes and sat down at her mahogany wooden desk, leaning her head on her hands without so much as realizing it.

"Albus…"

Immediately, though, her head anxiously snapped up- looking around in a rather paranoid manner, as if expecting to see some Death Eaters jumping out of every corner. As soon as she noticed that she was alone, though, her miserable sigh repeated itself.

With an almost mechanical gesture, the woman took up the quill on the desk, taking a piece of parchment- and suddenly, words came flowing.

"Dear Albus,"

Somehow her mind went blank at this word. This word- his name- which she had not even spoken that many times during her young life. Professor Dumbledore, it had always been- but it was so much easier to think of him as "Albus" somehow.

"I know I have hurt you, on that day when I left. I have seen the tears in your eyes and I have cried myself, and yet I did not consider going back. Not because I don't value you, but simply because sometimes, duty calls and when duty calls, a woman must obey. And so I did, Albus.

I am not sorry for leaving and for accepting this mission, because I believe it is my fate and because I believe that my late parents ask this of me. But I am sorry for what I said.

Not because it hurt you, though. It was the only possible thing I could say to keep you from keeping me from going. Simply because it was a lie. I said I did not love you- well, I was lying.

Because I do love you. There- there you've got it. I have loved you since I was fourteen, to be honest, but I considered it a school girl crush and, of course, never dropped so much as a hint about it. When I saw you, there, with Alastor and Mr. Flamel, though, it all came back to me.

I do love you, Albus, and should I ever return from this alive, I'd only be too glad to share whatever life I'll have left with you.

Yours, if you will have me,

Minerva"

It was perhaps not the right kind of letter to send under the circumstances she was in, Minerva acknowledged, but it was her letter and she was determined to send it. After all, even the prospect of him actually reading it somehow seemed terribly unrealistic to her now- a fact which she considered to be a direct result of her unusual surroundings.

Was there still a world outside the castle? Hadn't she been born here- hadn't everything- Alastor, Albus, Mr Flamel- been a dream?

She felt her heart beating against the inside of her mind and it was a strange experience- yet also, in a way, a freeing one.

It brought her back to the world of the living, and when she drew a slow, prolonged breath, she could finally scold herself again for her total lack of common sense.

Of course there was a world out there. Of course she hadn't dreamt it all.

Of course Albus existed, and of course she loved him.

And yet somehow that last line was the only one she could speak without the slightest hesitation.

With a worried shake of her head, Minerva got up and grabbed the two parchments now lying on her desk. She'd finished the promised report for Alastor earlier- and it gave her a good excuse to risk her whole mission just to send to Albus the letter which had been ripening inside of her head for a few days now. After all, the risk for one or two letters was about the same- namely, a trip to the wing of the castle where Grindelwald kept his owls, and, eventually, perhaps even triumph or failure- life or death.

**A/N:** A damn merry Christmas to all of you!


	15. Chapter Fourteen

As, moments later, the door closed behind her back again, Minerva had a feeling she could cry with relief. The distance had not been that long, no- but she knew very well that she would never have forgiven herself had she been so stupid as to get caught now. For if she had been caught, it would have been because of her own stupidity; and she very well knew that. And for some reason, that thought bothered her more than the possibility to get killed. She did not want to fail. And so she wouldn't. It was that simple to her.

ooo

As, three days after having sent the notorious letter away, Minerva had still received no answer, she scolded herself for what she herself considered the stupidest deed of her entire life. He wouldn't reply- of course he wouldn't reply.

She had, not even two months earlier, thrown his own love right back in his face, ripping his heart out in the process. She could not feel sorry, perhaps, and yet she did. What she had done had been inevitable, needed even, and she knew that, should anyone ever find out about it, they would admire her because of it… and yet why couldn't she keep from blaming herself then?

She did recall the last speech Alastor had given her, after all. When she closed her eyes, she could literally see the scarred face of her mentor- she could still hear his words.

_"Minerva, you are about to leave for a place which we know nothing about, but for that it's most probably the most dangerous place in our world. You will have to fight there, but not with your own fists, hexes or curses- but with the strength of your character. And I don't know, cannot know, for sure whether you're up to it. Only time can tell us that, and I hope it will._

_Perhaps you will die. Perhaps you won't even survive your arrival. But know then, that our cause does not die along with you. Perhaps you will die and perhaps I will die, and maybe thousands of people will die along with us._

_But goodness, Minerva, won't die. That, namely, is its one, unique, quality; that it never dies. Evil can reign and kill and torture, but goodness can heal, and so it will. Now, or in twenty years, or in a thousand years- but one day, it will. And that will be our day._

_And therefore, Minerva, never back down._

_Evil does not exist and despair is absurd, when hope stays in our hearts._

_Never back down._

_And if our fight demands us to change, if our battle leaves us scarred and broken, even if we have to sacrifice what is most dear to us in the world- well then we will._

_That is our task. We will sacrifice and die, in order for the world to survive."_

And as Minerva rose to her feet, putting on one of the beautiful, medieval dresses Grindelwald had given her, she looked into the mirror and noticed she was smiling.

For the first time in days, a true smile graced Minerva McGonagall's lips, and she saw her own green eyes shine as she nodded at her reflection, only to see that gesture- of course- repeated by the woman in front of her.

Of course I'll never back down, Sir.

I'd rather die.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**AN:** To Rikki, because she saved my life by helping me with my religious education assignment (hysterical squee!).

The day AlbusDumbledore received Minerva's letter came, ironically, the next morning. The explanation for its rather long delay was simple, and in fact even due to a mistake of Minerva herself. In all nervousness and hurry, namely, she had picked an owl still way too young and small for the delivery of long-distance post- and when the poor animal finally arrived, it was indeed more dead than alive.

But even though the condition of the owl rather shocked Albus- always quite fond of birds- it could not at all match the sheer surprise which rushed through his veins at reading the contents of the letter the owl had- finally- delivered.

In fact his first reaction- after sinking back into one of the large chairs in his living room- was disbelief. Someone playing a cruel trick on him. A student, perhaps, who thought he was being funny- or perhaps- well, he didn't know. An enemy? The idea did sound rather ridiculous to him, true- but… As he leant his head back, closing his eyes in the process, though, he realized that it did not only sound ridiculous- it _was_ ridiculous, too. First of all, no-one knew Minerva was on a mission. Second of all, no-one had heard their parting conversation. Third of all- and most of all- it was Minerva's handwriting. He was sure of it.

He'd not taught her for seven years for nothing- he would recognize that neat, simple handwriting of hers everywhere, and even though the letter had obviously been written rather rushed, it didn't matter. Minerva had written it, and he couldn't really care for anything but that.

Carefully, very slowly, Albus allowed his fingers to graze the rather rough parchment it had been written on, travelling all down to the final words of the letter. "Yours, if you will have me."

He hardly noticed a big tear trickling down his cheek and staining the parchment as his trembling lips tentatively formed a rather timid smile.

"Minerva, Minerva, how can you ever doubt that? I will have you, my dear, of course I will- I've never wanted anything else. No, we'll marry, my dear, and we will be happy, and you will wear a bright white wedding dress, and flowers in that amazing, black hair of yours, and-"

Yet here, Albus fell silent. Dropping his hands- along with the letter- on his purple-clad lap, the man who was quite rightfully called the most powerful wizard of his age realized he'd acted as a serious fool.

Marry Minerva.

Marry the girl who'd gone off to Grindelwald himself as a spy, a girl who was on what most probably was the most important as well as most dangerous mission of this whole war. The girl- woman- who had left, knowing it was highly unlikely that she would ever return- who had lied to him and broken both their hearts in the process because of that.

Only now did he realize how very brave her decision had been. She loved him- that he realized now- love was literally radiating from every letter she had entrusted to the parchment- and yet she had left him. Left him for an uncertain duty, for a future which she knew literally nothing about- left love and her easy chance on happiness behind.

At first he had assumed she'd done it because she did not love him, but if she did- if she did, her decision to leave was the bravest thing he had ever heard of.

Albus knew- out of his own experience of years- that it took a lot of courage to choose the hard way over the easy one- and an easy one he had offered her indeed. But she, so very young, so very beautiful, had not hesitated for as much as a split second. And he admired her for it, more than he could say.

And if she should return- he barely dared to think about the other possibility- he would marry her, no matter what. No matter how scared, no matter how traumatized, no matter how- did he dare to say it? No- but what he did know what this- no matter what, as long as she would have him, he would marry her, with or without white dress, with or without flowers in her hair.

But he would marry her, make her happy, love her.

No matter what.

And with a pensive look in his eyes and a pencil clutched between his still shaking fingers, Albus Dumbledore started to write.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

"See, and now I say "checkmate", because I have won." Minerva explained with a faint smile; removing the black king from the chess board in the process, then glanced at the young woman sitting opposite her.

"Do you understand?"

Meia almost imperceptibly nodded, but as Minerva's emerald green eyes linked with Meia's grey ones, Minerva knew that, indeed, the girl had understood her. She did know that Meia was not stupid, after all- just shy and very frightened. But perhaps that was only logical.

With one nonchalant swish of her wand, Minerva returned the chess board- a gift from Lord Grindelwald- back to the shelf where she had grown to usually keep it, then glanced up at Meia again. Despite all shyness and fear, she had grown very fond of the young ex-Ravenclaw, who was, or so Minerva had found out, despite her terribly silent nature still about the best companion she had been able find in the castle. Since Meia's husband only found it flattering and apparently amusing that the Master's woman seemed to like his wife's company so much, they got to spend much time together, and there was no person in the castle whose company Minerva valued more.

Except, sometimes, that of Grindelwald.

Minerva's relationship with Grindelwald was a bizarre one, and confusing too, even to her, whose analytical and rational mind had once been praised above all others during Auror training. She was regularly called to his rooms, where they usually talked about many subjects- not even necessarily about the war or his plans for it- and though Minerva hated to admit it, she knew that Grindelwald was an intelligent man, and a powerful one at that.

And now she knew very well that power did not automatically mean intelligence- but she did know, too, that intelligence always meant power, in one way or another. Intelligence was, in a way, nothing more or less than the ability to know others better than they knew themselves- and to be able to control them because of it.

Grindelwald possessed that sort of power, yet not over her, and Minerva felt it somehow fascinated him. She did not lower her eyes as soon as he entered the room- natural stubbornness standing in the way of that, which would perhaps be considered as the perfect performance of her part in the play of the war.

It had also gained her his respect, though. Minerva had noticed the disdain with which Grindelwald treated the people who surrounded him- even Tom Riddle- and she had slowly grown to realize that that was, because they bowed- which she did not. Grindelwald, Minerva saw, was a man who had probably always received everything for free- someone who had always been able to count on his charisma and intelligence to get everything he wanted, and someone who had grown bitter in the process. Bitter and- bored, too, bored of having people nod at him, bored at the "Yes, Sir." which in a way he craved, too.

That was, partly, perhaps the explanation why he liked to talk to her so often- and why he had not- yet- tried anything more. She'd been prepared for it since the very first day, and she'd known that it could happen ever since she'd accepted the mission at her own- but so far, it had not and she was grateful for that.

When she had first left, she had just seen it as a part of her mission- something an Auror should be able to cope with- but that had changed after she had received her first letter from Albus. She'd had to burn it right away, of course, but the words remained written in her heart and Minerva knew very well that that was where they were going to stay- forever.

Since then, it did matter to her. Since that moment, she'd realized that she had actually something to live for, and even though it did not render her desperate- she was too brave for that- it did worry her, a little.

She had known right away that what a spy needed the most was recklessness- the sort of bravery that included throwing yourself into things without properly having thought it all over- and she had thought that, even though it was not a part of her character, that could not be too big a problem to her.

She had no parents alive anymore, nor siblings, and though she did have friends, she wasn't the person to hesitate when duty was involved.

But Albus- she could not, would not, leave Albus behind.

She had something to live for, now- and it hurt her more than she dared admit even to herself. As a soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, she was almost grateful- until Anselmus Malfoy's pale face appeared, and with a short nod, he summoned both women out of the room.

"Meia, here. Miss McGonagall- the Lord wants to see you."


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**A/N: To Kaitlyn, who reminded me that this fic still existed ;).**

Gathering her long, velvet skirts together, Minerva got up, more slowly than, perhaps, she could have. She'd grown into a deep, heartfelt dislike for the fair-haired man with his cold eyes- and she knew she irritated her by not obeying immediately, like Meia did.

The young woman had immediately, at the mere sight of her husband, jumped up and nearly ran out of the room- while Minerva, a small smile on her lips, took her time walking towards the door.

It was perhaps not a smart move to treat a powerful man like Mr. Malfoy undoubtedly was this way- but slowly yet surely, Minerva had come to realize that as long as she had the favour of the Dark Lord himself, she could do anything she wished- and in a weird, twisted way, it made her feel protected.

Even Tom Riddle had left her alone since the Lord had "taught him a lesson"- and though the memory of the Unforgivable Curse still filled Minerva with a disgust never felt before, she had to admit that at least it had calmed Riddle down.

Minerva's only problem was, really, that some part of her really did realize how very fake her feeling of protection was.

Her safety, namely, depended on the mood swings of just one man.

And that man happened to be the darkest wizard of all times.

"Minerva, good day!"

And yet as he sat there, she nearly felt like greeting an old friend. Only an instant later, though, did she realize how twisted it all sounded and looked- and it was that instant that worried her.

"Good day, my Lord. I hope you are alright today?"

Was she getting indoctrinated? Was she turning into a follower of Grindelwald, then? Had, slowly but surely, his ideas crept inside of her mind, too- had she been made into a servant like the others?

Oh _hell_ no!

"I am very well, Minerva, very well, sit down."

And she sat down- because the strange thing about Grindelwald's orders was just that- that you obeyed. No matter how kindly he asked or said something, there was always the need to obey- and you always ended up doing just that.

It was a strange quality of his- and a very useful one at that, Minerva rationally thought.

"I have been thinking about our marriage."

Minerva nervously shifted in her chair- and as the pensive, dark eyes of her Lord came to rest on her face, she realized he'd seen it- and froze.

But why on earth shouldn't he have seen it, actually! It was with a stubborn look in her eyes that the black-haired witch returned his gaze- why couldn't she be nervous, after all? She was twenty-one years of age- why shouldn't she feel a bit intimidated by the idea of marriage?

"Does that idea frighten you?"

"A little."

"I thought so. But Minerva, my Lady- I am making you my Queen- you must see that that's the best thing that could happen to you, don't you?"

The young woman sighed as, in a nearly fatherly way, the older wizard patted her hand. She knew that in a way, he meant well- and she also knew that in a way, he was mad.

Minerva cleared her throat.

"Of course I do, my Lord. It was silly of me to be scared at that idea, and I apologize."

"Of course."

His satisfied smile made that he irritated her for the very first time- it was strange. The past few weeks and days, she'd felt various things towards the Dark Lord- ranging from hate towards something very close to admiration- but not once had he irritated her.

Now, though, he did- and suddenly, she found herself nearly looking down on him- which was a whole new sensation.

Suddenly, he was not the powerful Lord anymore.

Suddenly, she saw a man who'd tried to function in a normal society, and who had failed.

Suddenly, she saw a failure.

And she was not afraid anymore.


End file.
